Not Quite a Scot

by Janice Maynard

  The ring was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. A huge Asscher-cut solitaire that splintered the afternoon sunlight and sent it bouncing and sparkling in a million different directions.

  “Yes.” I had a hard time forcing that single syllable between my lips. I was disorientated and relieved and filled to the brim with incredulous joy.

  “Yes, what?”

  “I will marry you, Finley Craig. For now, for always.”

  When he slid the ring onto the third finger of my left hand, we both sighed. It was a perfect fit.

  Finley lifted my chin with two fingers and kissed me gently. “Now I suppose I have to call you my Duchess fiancée.”

  I fretted, even then. “It kills me to think we might have missed each other. What if I hadn’t wrecked in that ditch? What if Cedric’s house had been perfect in every way?”

  He held my hands in his. “I would have found you, McKenzie. I have no doubts at all.”

  I held out my hand out to admire my new ring. “I suppose we should go back inside and tell the others.”

  Finley chuckled, holding me close. “I think they already know.”

  He cocked his head toward the end of the alley. Not only the curious had stopped to stare. Hayley and Angus, Willow and Bryce, had joined the throng.

  Hayley waved. Willow blew me a kiss.

  My heart was so full I could barely speak. “We did it,” I whispered, so low I don’t think even Finley heard me. “We found our own true loves…”

  Be sure not to miss the first book in Janice Maynard’s Kilted Heroes series

  Hot for the Scot

  Read on for a special excerpt from the first book in the series

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  Chapter 1

  On the East Coast train…somewhere between London and Inverness…

  “Jamie Fraser is a fictional character. Like Harry Potter or Jason Bourne. You’re not going to find him wandering around the Scottish Highlands, waiting to sweep you off your feet.”

  “I know that. I’m not delusional. But at least I have a whimsical soul. You wouldn’t know a romantic moment if it smacked you in the face.”

  I listened to the argument with half an ear. Willow, ever the cynic, and McKenzie, the daydreamer, had been hammering away at each other since we left King’s Cross. Though we checked out of our hotel and arrived at the train station with plenty of time to spare for our noon departure, McKenzie nearly made us late when she insisted on standing in the snaking line of tourists to get her picture taken at the Platform 9 ¾ sign.

  Not only was she a rabid fan of all the Outlander books, she was almost equally smitten with the world of Harry Potter. I couldn’t blame her, really. As a primary school teacher and lifelong reader, I’d been called a bookworm and a nerd more than once. My own tattered copy of Outlander was tucked inside my backpack, even though my Kindle had enough books to last me until I was old and gray.

  I was neither as unique as Willow nor as sophisticated as McKenzie. Middle-of-the-road at best. With the last name Smith, the cards were stacked against me when it came to standing out. I spent my days working with women and children and my nights grading papers. My goal for this trip was to live on the edge…to seek out adventure…and to quit being so cautious. I had come to Scotland to find myself.

  I suspected Willow and McKenzie had equally private goals, but they hadn’t shared them with me. We had all agreed to look for romance. Like Claire Randall, the intrepid heroine of the TV series Outlander, we yearned to find our own down-to-earth but utterly devoted Highlander.

  It was a harmless fantasy.

  The signposts flying past my window were poetry to me. I’d studied them on the map: Pitlochry, Gleneagle, Lindisfarne. I couldn’t wait to leave this train and plunge into the greatest adventure of my life.

  Reluctantly, I drew my attention from the passing scenery and intervened before blood was shed. “You’re both jet-lagged,” I said. “If you’re not going to enjoy the trip, at least get some sleep so you won’t be grumpy when we get to Inverness. I’m tired of listening to both of you.”

  We were riding in first class, four motor coach–style seats flanking a small table, two on either side. Lunch had already been cleared away. Our snacks littered the surface between us. So far the cuisine hadn’t been all that impressive. But the food was included in our ticket price and better yet, we didn’t have to queue up at the meal counter several cars away.

  In front of us sat the remnants of our third cups of tea. Or was it the fourth? I’d honestly lost count. Already, I’d made several trips to the tiny restroom at the rear of the cabin. The pleasant stewards passed up and down the aisles, pouring tea and offering cream with almost mechanical precision. At this rate, I’d be a certified Brit by the time we arrived at our destination.

  Finally, in response to my schoolmarm glare, my two friends sat back and exchanged sheepish grins, making them look more sleepy than cranky.

  Willow yawned. “Tell me again why we didn’t fly straight to Inverness?”

  “You know why,” I said.

  Willow wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as she liked to pretend. She had a mushy, soft center wrapped in a hard candy shell. Her life had been difficult…much more challenging than mine. I suspected her armor was only skin deep, but it gave her the illusion of being in control.

  I opened my notebook. “We agreed that since we can’t actually go back in time like Claire does in Outlander, this train journey will be symbolic of our desire to go off the grid for a month. No cell phones. No Internet. No Facebook. No Twitter. You agreed, Willow.”

  “Under duress,” she muttered.

  McKenzie snickered. “You’re bitchy when you’re tired.”

  “And you’re even more annoying than usual,” Willow drawled.

  “Enough,” I pleaded. I knew they loved each other. I’d known these two since we all shared a preschool babysitter, my sainted mother. Although the three of us had been a handful even as children, Mom relished the fact that she had two additional daughters in Willow and McKenzie. My parents always wanted a big family, but it wasn’t in the cards. I had heard the refrain a million times growing up: Those two girls are like sisters to you, Hayley. Don’t ever let them go.

  But inevitably, I had. In fourth grade, McKenzie’s well-heeled parents enrolled her in private school. About that same time, Willow’s dad walked out. Willow’s mom couldn’t keep up with the house payments on her own, so she and Willow had been forced to move all the way to the other side of Atlanta to live with relatives.

  I was the one left behind to grow up in the neighborhood where we had spent so many happy times.

  Even so, Mom held us together, forcing the exchange of birthday cards and the occasional get-together in downtown Atlanta. By high school, though, the contact between my two childhood playmates and me had become minimal.

  Then came Facebook. Mom gleefully searched online for pages of kids she’d shepherded in her daycare. And, of course, she found Willow and McKenzie. Right off the bat, it was apparent that our lives had taken far different tracks. Ironically, I now taught third grade in the elite private school where McKenzie spent most of her grammar school career.

  Willow owned Hair Essentials, a beauty salon located in a nice middle-class suburb of Atlanta. Her approach to money was save, not spend. It was no wonder she was a little tense. She had taken out a loan against her business to make this trip.

  McKenzie had completed an Ivy League education and now filled her days doing charity work with a number of Atlanta-area organizations. She was beautiful and sophisticated and had traveled the world. But underneath it all, she was still the little kid who refused to be afraid of dogs or spiders and wanted to be friends with everyone. I’d always envied her confidence.

  Without McKenzie, Willow and I wouldn’t be in Europe at all.

  Our plan was to stay together tonight at the hotel adjacent to the train station in Inver
ness. Then tomorrow morning, we would all three go our separate ways. My mood skittered back and forth between exhilaration and terror.

  I tapped the notebook where I had underlined the final piece of our plan. “And remember. Every night at nine o’clock, or as close as we can make it, we’ll turn on our phones and check for any emergency messages from each other.”

  McKenzie nodded. “I won’t forget. Willow knows her way around the mean streets, but no offense, Hayley, you’re the one I’m worried about.”

  Her remark was fair enough, but it stung nevertheless. “I’ll be fine, McKenzie,” I said automatically. The truth was, I had my doubts. I wasn’t an experienced traveler. Still, McKenzie’s offer had been impossible to resist. She paid for all three of our first-class plane tickets and for three train fares as well. All Willow and I had to cover was lodging and food. Immersing myself in this kind of trip was the opportunity of a lifetime.

  McKenzie was Willow’s opposite in almost every way. Her family had money…serious money. Old Georgia wealth that grew even in financial hard times. The impetus for this bucket-list trip was a bequest from McKenzie’s paternal grandmother. Instead of putting her inheritance away for a rainy day, McKenzie decided she wanted to go to Scotland. With us.

  Given her background, it wouldn’t be surprising if she were a spoiled brat. But the truth was, she was a sweetheart. A little bossy maybe…and with a tendency to believe she was always right. But a sweetheart. And I loved her.

  I loved Willow, too. At the moment, though, I was ready to murder both of them.

  Inverness couldn’t get here soon enough…

  Meet the Author

  Photo by Jamie Pearson Photography

  USA Today bestselling author Janice Maynard knew she loved books and writing by the time she was eight years old. But it took multiple rejections and many years of trying before she sold her first three novels. After teaching kindergarten and second grade for a number of years, Janice took a leap of faith and quit her day job. Since then she has written and sold over thirty-five books and novellas.

  During a recent trip to Scotland, Janice enjoyed getting to know the “motherland.” Her grandfather’s parents emigrated from the home of bagpipes, heather, and kilts. Janice lives in east Tennessee with her husband, Charles. They love hiking, traveling, and spending time with family.

  Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job!

  You can connect with Janice at http://www.twitter.com/JaniceMaynard, www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReaderPage, http://www.wattpad.com/user/JaniceMaynard, and http://www.instagram.com/JaniceMaynard.